Crux
by Chibizoo
Summary: What does one think of when they are confronted with the society? Love? Beauty? Truth? Hate? Or maybe... a different multitude of feelings. A fic that reveals the _truth_ that society has on the individual.


Author's notes: I do not own Yu-gi-oh.   
  
Contrary to popular belief, the author, Zoo, is not insane or high. She is a psychopath, a nut, a maniac,   
determined to conquer the world before Yami-Bakura (and steal Yuugi in the process), and currently   
devising a plan to turn humans into mindless Eevee zombies, but no, we guarantee that Zoo is not insane.   
As for the we – you don't need to know who were are. We're just the omniscient voices in your mind.   
Yeah.   
  
Jounochi=Joey  
Anzu=Tea  
Shizuka=Serenity  
Honda=Tristan  
Ryou=Bakura  
Yuugi=Yugi  
Whoever needs this translation= dubbie  
  
*****************************************  
  
"If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop digging."  
  
- Will Rogers (aka, another dumb optimist person)  
  
***************************************  
  
Crux  
  
  
"Society: n. - ties 1. A group of persons joined together for a common purpose or by a common interest."  
  
Yuugi began writing down the definition on the assigned blank lines of his homework paper, one   
finger tracing each word. Having done that task, the boy's eyes immediately began assessing the next   
scatter of words printed directly below the first dictionary definition.  
  
"2. All the people; the people of a particular time or place; their activities and customs."   
  
His eyes lowered another slight level.   
  
"3. Those people thought of as a grouped because of common economic position, similar interests, etc."   
  
The list continued for a while afterwards, but like any sane, ordinary person, Yuugi stopped at   
around definition number 5. With a heavy sigh, he closed the thick, unwieldy volumes of the dictionary,   
shoving the offending book away as far as he could. Since both the table and his strength were neither   
very large, the dictionary moved perhaps a grand distance of five centimetres before resettling itself.   
  
However, Yuugi was satisfied enough to continue on with whatever task he was currently   
fascinated in. The boy knitted his brows in deep concentration as he read the instructions sprawled on his   
homework paper.   
  
"Write a sentence using the word, "society"."   
  
A few seconds later, Yuugi had successfully completed said task, immediately moving on to the   
next one. Again, he meticulously scanned the instructions before executing the commands.   
  
"In your own words, define "society". "  
  
His pencil snapped. This was quite a wonder, considering that Yuugi was using a mechanical   
pencil. It had been one of those mass-packaged pencils; the ones that could be bought in the dollar store in   
bundles of ten, covered in cheap packaging that often wrote labels such as "10 high-quality pencils" or   
perhaps "10 durable, long-lasting pencils." Of course, they were made in China.   
  
Fortunately, another pencil was seated quite coincidentally beside Yuugi's left elbow, the boy   
grabbing the object with a fluid motion of his right hand. From there, Yuugi once again began his pattern   
of writing.   
  
"Society:"  
  
Yuugi paused. What on earth was society? How was he supposed to know? If he wrote a similar   
definition of society to the dictionary's definition, then he would just be conforming to the methods of his   
society. And when one personally defined a word, one was prohibited to copy the definition from   
anywhere else, especially from within society's resources.   
  
Which left Yuugi in a slight dilemma. Oh well - the others would understand. They were a   
society: they _had_ to.   
  
He then began writing with his pencil, drawing out each word in thick, bold, pencil stains.   
  
"A fancy-looking substitute for a blank space, since blank spaces don't look very nice in the   
dictionary."  
  
And he was proud of himself. Until he realized his own flaw and scowled. Immediately, the   
cheap rubber eraser the end of the cheap pencil began its work, reducing the previously written words into   
a pile of rubber bits and leaving an ugly pink streak behind.   
  
Yuugi looked at his homework with a disgusted sigh. Boy did he ever need to get a new pencil!   
But then again, maybe it was for the better. After all, not everybody in society had a nice, ugly, pink streak   
across his or her homework.   
  
***********************************  
  
Ryou was hopelessly lost again. He found himself facing a labyrinth of impassive walls, each one   
the same, thick, pasty white. Psychological studies had indicated the soothing effect that white walls   
seemed to impress upon the majority of society. Consequently, scrawled on every facet of these formerly   
white walls were millions of lurid images and logos in several colours, some reading "kick me", or others   
formed into some mysterious design. There were also sizeable cracks and chunks in the wall, adding to   
the tattered effect. Yes, white walls sure impressed society. Otherwise, why would anyone vandalize them?  
  
Due to the fact that the bell had rung exactly three minutes ago, Ryou was currently quite   
stressed. And naturally, in times of stress, the human body acts accordingly. Adrenaline pumped into the   
white-haired boy's body as his digestive system slowed down to save energy. His muscles tenses and his   
every senses became twice as alert. The wonders of the human body – it sure knew how to save them in   
times of stress!  
  
Rushing down the halls in such a haphazard manner proved only to be disastrous for the poor   
Ryou. With no more than a squeak of warning, the white-haired freshman barrelled straight into another   
person. And it only came with consequence that this particular person happened to be Ryou's vice   
president.   
  
The vice president was a strict person, never seen without his consistent frown and furrowed   
eyebrows. His face was an ugly red, squat and unnaturally flat to the point where everything but his nose   
seemed concave. It was the stereotypical image of a miserly, mean person, but it worked.   
  
Now, said vice principal curled his face into an even deeper frown. His enormously bulging eyes   
glared accusingly at Ryou with a look of utter contempt.   
  
Ryou gulped. Now he was in for it!  
  
The vice principal picked himself up, wiping his clean suit a few times. Though some people   
claimed that the vice principal was actually a nice person once one got to know him deep down inside,   
that was only a nice lie to save the school from going to the efforts of searching for a replacement.   
  
Ryou blushed a deep, embarrassed crimson, bowing apologetically several times in front of his   
vice-principal's glaring eyes.   
"I-I-I-'m sorry". He finally managed to stutter in his state of shock.   
  
"What's your name, boy?" The vice-principal demanded while readjusting his tie. He then pulled   
out a thick volume from his rank tweed coat, poising a wet ball-point pen on one of the fresh, empty   
pages.   
  
Ryou gulped. "R-R-Ryou."  
  
The heavy tip of the pen immediately began tracing along the blank page, carving thick, linear   
patterns into its surface and leaving a trail of fine sapphire ink in its wake. Having completed his ritual of   
writing down the delinquent's name, the vice-principal gave Ryou a curt nod.   
"I shall see you at the principal's office after school." The comment wasn't a question – it was a   
strict and firm demand.   
  
Nodding almost too eagerly, though his heart sank with disappointment, Ryou murmured an   
apologetic okay. Some moments later, he was dismissed, and said boy scurried off faster than a human   
missile.   
  
Later on that afternoon, the vice-principal somehow mysteriously lost his book, though it   
definitely wasn't the work of a strange, demented, white-haired yami. Especially ones that had better   
things to do that wait and vent in the principal's office.   
  
*********************************  
  
The next day Yuugi went to school, he was in for the news of his life. The school was following   
the new regulations of the district school board, and a new rule had been applied that unnatural hair   
colouring was no longer allowed. And since Japan was an Asian country, anyone Japanese speaking had   
to be, of course, Asian, unless they could prove otherwise. And since no one could really prove otherwise,   
everyone, including Jounochi, Honda, Mai, Miho, and Anzu, now sported a nice shade of raven-black   
hair.   
  
Yes, even poor Ryou, who was a natural albino. Yet, because albinos were a minority, their wills   
became inferior to the greater hand of Japanese society. Well, it was better than living in Timbuktu. For   
there, natural hair colours were _not_ allowed. And since no one living in Timbuktu knew exactly which   
hair-colour was the majority, it was assumed that every hair colour there was just as equally important.   
Which meant that certain Millennium Ring-wielding albinos living in Timbuktu would currently be bald.   
  
****************************  
  
Anzu had always been a rational and caring girl. She had always been the top student in her   
class, the class president, and an active participant on school-related activates. Thus, it only made sense   
for her to wonder how she got dragged into this situation.   
  
Here the poor brown-haired girl was, strapped to the seat of a thick, scarcely padded chair,   
wedged between two other bodies on either side of her. Her arms clenched the bottom of the seat for dear   
life, back doubled over in an expression of fear and desperate prayer. Her only protection was a thin,   
cheaply made strap of grey cloth, tied together several times with a loose adhesive to connect the snapped   
off segments.   
  
But worst of all was the person in front of her. This person had wild blonde-hair, flaying at   
almost unnatural angles around her. Her feet were pressed firmly to the ground (and more, had it been   
possible), and her arms were bent at an angle that could rival those of her hair.   
  
There was a small crash and a thump before the blonde-haired person in the front began to curse   
rather rudely. Anzu winced.   
  
"Could you please drive a bit slower?" The brown-haired girl finally commented, watching with   
horror as Mai cut off another car in a lane before breaking into a rabid u-turn.   
  
Mai snorted, continuing her ritual of flailing limbs, hands somewhat loosely connected on the   
driver's wheel. "Don't worry, hun. I know what I'm doing."  
  
"But we don't." The girl seated to the right of Anzu, Miho, muttered. Her long lavender hair,   
once tied in a ponytail, was now a jumble of loose strands of hair, thanks to Mai's driving escapade. To   
Anzu's right was Jounochi's little sister, Shizuka, who seemed none the better.   
  
Mai blared past another car, causing said owner of the car to roll open his window and scream a   
variety of colourful, if not overly profane language. Fortunately, when one is travelling at over seventy   
miles per hour, the words sound more like a brief shout than anything else.   
  
"Mai!" Miho wailed, "You missed my house!"  
  
Upon hearing that, Mai finally slowed down to a decent pace. Now, the poor passengers in the   
car could finally see the houses one by one, each one rolling past in a standard fashion, square block after   
square block.   
"Don't worry." Mai stated, "I'll just turn around the block."  
  
Miho, however, seemed to be distracted. She pressed her face against the window, pointing a   
finger some distance in front of her outside the front window. "Hey! Isn't that the insane lady's house?"  
  
That seemed to have perked Mai's attention. "Insane lady? Where?" She immediately swivelled   
her car to that direction.  
  
"Over there." Miho pointed again, so that the car started heading straight towards the vicinity.   
Upon realizing what Mai was doing, Miho stopped. "Uh, I don't think it's a good idea. She's   
schizophrenic, you know. And she might get paranoid if we suddenly decide to stop our car and stare at   
her."  
  
"I agree." Shizuka stated. "I think we should just leave the poor lady alone."  
  
It was too late. Mai had already pulled over until her car was right beside said insane lady's   
house. Since her car was moving at a snail's pace, one could see from the approaching view the insane   
lady, sitting on her rocking chair, tending to a cup of tea.  
  
"Hurry up!" Anzu hissed to Mai. "If that lady spots us, she might phone the police or   
something!"  
  
"Yeah." Added Miho, nodding vigorously. "It doesn't exactly look good when you drive past her   
house this slowly while staring at her all the time!" She shuddered. "And I don't want to get in trouble,   
either."  
  
Naturally, Mai pulled to a dead stop. The lady in the window turned around to see the girls   
staring at them from their car. The schizophrenic's lady's eyes seem to glint with unnatural suspicion.   
  
"Uh oh." Miho muttered, in a rather omniscient voice. She immediately turned to Mai. "Mai,   
let's go! Now, she really thinks we're spies going after her!"  
  
Since Anzu and Shizuka also joined in on the shrieks, Mai finally consented, pulling away and   
turning around the block.   
  
… And pulling back to the same spot again to get another look at the curiously schizophrenic   
woman, hoping to drive the woman nuts. The other girls simply shrieked their protests.   
  
Meanwhile, the legally schizophrenic woman, Mrs. Sanders, was enjoying her cup of tea. She   
had seen the nice teenagers in the car pass by her house twice already, and vaguely wondered if they   
wanted to join her in her cup of tea. Such a pity that they left so fast.   
  
***************************  
  
"And we say our deepest condolences to the late Mr. Timmons, who has parted from this world   
to another one of eternal joy and light."  
  
Honda listened to the procurator in black ramble on and on about said deceased person. Truth be   
told, Honda had no clue why he was here, dressed in his stuffy black tuxedo, standing among multitudes   
of sobbing, grieving people. He felt as out of place as a penguin among seagulls.   
  
Well, at least they were all human. And they were all part of the same society. Or so, Honda   
thought. He began to scrutinize the people around him, taking in their too-heavy perfume, and the ladies'   
high, wailing cries. Okay, never mind the human part.   
  
Why the heck were the people so sad anyway? Why did they care so much for someone who was   
dead?   
Honda shook his head. What was wrong with people? They were extending their feelings to the   
_dead_ body instead of the person himself. They were selfish and greedy – Mr. Timmons hadn't actually   
died, he had just ceased to exist from their memories. In actuality, Mr. Timmons was probably either   
living happily in heaven (as the procurator had said more than several times) or even, still as a person,   
just not among human society anymore.   
  
The brown-haired boy couldn't take it anymore.   
  
"Don't you get it?" He began waving his arms and shouting, drowning the cries and even the   
voice of the procurator. For a moment, everyone stopped and turn to stare in astonishment at this single,   
offending boy.   
  
"You don't miss him at all!" Honda continued to bellow. "If you really missed him, you should   
try to remember him for who he was. But guess what? Your lovely Mr. Timmons has been replaced!"   
More arm flailing. "Yes, you idiots! Mr. Timmons has been replaced by your memory of him as a dead,   
hollow carcass! Isn't that great to sob over? Isn't that great to remember him as?"  
  
Honda scowled, shoving his way out of the crowd and to the door. "God, you are all a bunch of   
asses, so easily emotional, without even knowing what you're crying over. I hope that no one shows up at   
my funeral. I wouldn't want anyone remembering a dead version of me."  
  
The brown-haired boy left the room, still wondering why people hadn't admired their precious   
Mr. Timmons during life. Honda was sure that Mr. Timmon's achievements in life were much better than   
his achievement at death, since everyone knew how to die.   
  
And everyone else stared at gaped at Honda leave, some of the more dignified people's faces   
building a deep crimson flush. But secretly, they were just jealous because Honda put on a better display   
than they did.   
  
*****************  
  
He was driving at top speeds along the road when he was suddenly interrupted by yet another   
omniscient sign. It was a pale and lurid red, lividly fixating its single, baleful glare straight into his eyes,   
mocking his significance.   
  
But it was true. Kaiba couldn't escape its baleful influence. No, no one could. And those who   
dared try became silenced; permanently condemned to a life of pain and material agony.   
  
Yes, the power of the red traffic light was unstoppable!  
  
{ Zoo paused. She then glared at her Eevee muse, who had whapped her on the head for the bad pun.   
After some argument, Zoo decided that the fic must be continued. Her Eevee muse was not as eager.}  
  
Finally, after a few minutes of impatiently drumming his fingers along the steering wheel, Kaiba   
was liberated from the grips of the demonical red traffic light and free to roam the streets once again.   
  
… Until he was stopped by yet another red traffic light. Correction, a horribly red long traffic   
light that seemed to take an unearthly pleasure in keeping Kaiba stuck for as long as possible.   
  
And finally, the CEO was free again!  
  
… and stuck by the third consecutive red traffic light in a row. Oblivious to the staring   
pedestrians crossing the street, Kaiba began banging his head on the horn in frustration.   
  
Why, oh why, did he get all the bad luck? What on earth did he do to deserve such agony? Why   
was he the character of such angst, always ridden with pain, torment, and hatred? And most of all, why   
did red traffic lights always haunt him? He _hated_ society with a passion. It was always against him!  
  
  
Meanwhile, Jounochi found himself stopping at the tenth traffic light in a row, on the same   
intersection that Kaiba was adjacent to. The blonde-haired boy was currently absorbed in listening to his   
old CD. It was one that Yuugi had gave him last Christmas, and was the last gift that he had gotten for a   
long time, since the only gifts he ever got from his dad consisted of either harsh slaps or painful migraines   
resulting from child-abuse incidents. Yet, there was no need to think of such depressing thoughts,   
especially if one's name was Jounochi.   
  
For he was still alive, and life was being good to him, giving him a long rash of red traffic lights   
to allow him more time to listen to that wonderful CD.   
  
Yes, the creation of red traffic lights was one of the greatest achievements of his society. And boy   
did he ever love society!  
  
*********************************************  
  
End notes:   
  
Credits of this fic go to my good friend, Audacity. -- How can I rival your insanity?  
  
Incident number 4 with the Mai/Anzu/Miho/Shizuka incident was actually one that happened with my   
friends and I.  
  
Arigatou to everyone who has reviewed my Zoo-fics and enjoyed them! I was surprised by the feedback I   
got, and it just tells me that I'm not alone. ^_~ we never are, are we?   
  
"In the name of the Zoo, I shall PUN-ish you!"   
  
*whap!*  
  
@.@ 


End file.
